Truth Is Truth
by quillon
Summary: An evening with Faramir, Eowyn, Eomer and Lothiriel...pure fluff. Please R&R.


Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, but I do like to borrow them from time to time and play house with them. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
  
"Oh, you are only wroth, brother mine, because I saw you two and promised not to say aught to Father if you ate a bug!"  
  
Éomer stood and roared, "I am not wroth!" I could not help but laugh at this statement, for it was plain that I had touched on a nerve when I mentioned how he and his best friend Thenmel had practiced kissing on each other when they were yet too young to know better. Lothíriel had clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing out loud at this new information about her husband. Faramir had looked a bit ill at ease and diplomatically took a long sip of wine to cover any trace of a smile that might have touched his lips. But Éomer looked angry enough to spit cats, and I could not help but laugh aloud quite openly in front of him. I suppose that he felt his manhood was somehow insulted by this revelation, but truth is truth.  
  
"You! That bug was quite bitter!" He pointed at me. "You were a vicious little girl!" he bellowed. His face, though yet red, broke into a wide grin as he realized that he was among friends, and there was no reason to be embarrassed. He gripped me in a tight bear hug and spun me about before letting me go. "And you are nearly as savage now, Sister."  
  
"Nay, Éomer, I am not," I denied with a smile.  
  
"Mayhap I should mention that time when you lost a horse race to Théodred, and instead of being a gracious loser, you took his horse from the stable after he had gone to bed later and released it upon the Mark. It took him nearly two weeks to retrieve his mount from our herds, and during that entire time, you teased him until your voice was nigh gone!"  
  
Faramir spoke up then. "I can imagine that, Éomer. I know my wife is quite a prankster even now. Her sense of humor keeps us all on our toes around here," he chuckled.  
  
Éomer sent Faramir a sympathetic smile. "You poor man! I shudder to think of the horror I would feel from being saddled with this woman for the rest of my life!"  
  
Faramir looked directly at me, his eyes dark, yet filled with mirth. "Oh, I do, Éomer." He took a sip of wine as he enjoyed the blush which crept up my face. Éomer and Lothíriel both laughed as I smiled broadly but remained silent, sinking into a richly upholstered chair close to the fire.  
  
"It appears that my sister has finally met her match! Who would have thought it would be in the form of a grave Man of Gondor!" Éomer crossed to Faramir and pounded his brother-in-law on the back with brotherly affection that Faramir had learned to endure over the months.  
  
"And I would wager that you have met your match in Thíri here as well," added Faramir. "No weak maiden she."  
  
"I have three brothers! I could not afford to be weak. Elph, Chir and Rothos needed someone to keep them all in line."  
  
Faramir laughed out loud. "Yes, and their little sister was just the person to do it. She was heartless, Éomer, trust me. Boromir and I used to visit them in Dol Amroth in summer, and ever was she in the middle of whatever we boys were doing. Once we were playing at soldiers upon the beach with imaginary swords and horses, of course. Here comes Thíri with a real stick and begins whacking Rothos about the head and shoulders with it. When Elph went over to relieve her of her weapon, she nearly put his eye out with it! I am of an age with Elph, but after that I was nearly scared witless by her!"  
  
We all laughed a bit at that while Lothíriel defended her actions by explaining that she felt carrying a stick was the only way to give herself an edge since she was the youngest and, therefore, the smallest.  
  
"Ah, Thíri, you needed no weapon, for we would have done aught for you if you had only asked. Uncle had explained that we were to include you in our games, and if we had not, he would have had our hides. But I do wonder, do you yet need a stick with Éomer?"  
  
"Of course I do!" she exclaimed. "It is the only way I know to keep any male in line!" I giggled at my brother's expression.  
  
"It is a good thing that you were not raised in Rohan, Lothíriel, else I would be in big trouble," laughed Éomer.  
  
"I hate to break this news to you, Éomer, but you are already in big trouble," said Faramir with a grave voice, but dancing eyes. Lothíriel leaned over and smacked him on the shoulder, but Faramir ignored her and drained his cup.  
  
"Aye, both of us are, brother. After all of that training we endured to learn to defend ourselves in battle, and yet a few pretty smiles, and we are slain by these lovelies," my brother chuckled.  
  
"Indeed." Faramir's gaze turned to me once more, his expression making me shiver, before he reached for the wine and found the bottle empty. He stood from the table intending to fetch another one.  
  
"Brother," said Éomer, "do you have any ale hiding about this place?"  
  
Faramir smiled and said, as he moved into the kitchens, "We do if Éowyn has not drunk it all."  
  
As Faramir left the room, Lothíriel gave me a conspiratorial look and beckoned me to Faramir's vacated chair. As I sat next to her, she said most gravely, "I must thank you, Éowyn."  
  
"Whatever for?" I smiled.  
  
"For what you have done for Fara. He has never been happier in all the years I have known him. And the love that radiates from him when he looks at you, well, it just makes me ache with happiness for you both."  
  
I grinned at that. "It makes me ache, too," I assured her.  
  
She giggled, and Éomer sank down between us. "It does my heart good as well to see you both so happy, Sister, though your choice of a husband worried me in the beginning, since he was so serious and preoccupied. I could not figure out how my spirited sister fell in love with such a dullard."  
  
Lothíriel nudged Éomer in the ribs, and as he stood rather stiffly, I realized that Faramir had returned with the ale. The keg had already been tapped, and without a word, he drew four mugs of ale as we watched him silently. After doling them out, he sat upon the arm of my chair, placing his arm around my shoulders, and proposed a toast.  
  
"To rocky beginnings," he murmured. "May they all bring you as much happiness as mine have brought me."  
  
We toasted with the ale, Éomer and I draining our cups, while Lothíriel and Faramir merely sipped from theirs.  
  
"By the by," began Faramir, after we all complimented the fine flavor of the ale, "I would rather be a dullard than an overbearing ass."  
  
I laughed aloud again because, after all, truth is truth. 


End file.
